


Fickle Hearts and Fragile Things

by anorchidisnotaflower



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Confessions, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-01 13:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18335492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anorchidisnotaflower/pseuds/anorchidisnotaflower
Summary: "Oswald works slowly, combing through each section with an ease that Ed doesn’t quite expect. Usually, Oswald is all bursts of energy and emotion, impulse and planned strikes. But this is deliberate, almost gentle, and Ed loses himself in the sound of scissors slicing together, the soft brush of fabric, the barely-there press of Oswald’s fingers in his hair."After his tenuous alliance with Oswald, Ed attempts to build a sub, all while sorting through who exactly Oswald is to him.





	1. Chapter 1

The sound of Barbara’s heels fades away, leaving Oswald and Ed standing in her wake, uncertain of what to do, where to move.

“Well,” Oswald says after a moment, “shall we continue?”

Ed nods, absent-minded, and Oswald whirls on his heels, leading the way over to the bottom of the stairs. Barbara’s departure was as sudden as her arrival, but it seems Oswald is determined to move on from it as much as Ed is.

“This,” Oswald says, “is the way up to the bedrooms. Only two—Olga stays here as well, but hers is down the hall.”

Ed slowly follows Oswald up the stairs, gazing around the office. It suits Oswald, this. Of course, the manor did too, but these high ceilings, the clean, cold patterns—they speak to this new Oswald. This unsentimental, calculated king.

Though, Ed notes, glancing at Oswald’s smiling face, he’s not so sure about that assessment anymore.

“My room is here,” Oswald says, gesturing with a wave of his hand at two sufficiently-dramatic double doors. “And yours is just down the hall, if you ever need to work late.”

Ed walks ahead, peering in the doorway just a few feet down. It’s cozier than he expected—relatively small, with the bare furnishings any bedroom needs. The bed looks soft, though, and up to Oswald’s usual standards of luxury.

“It’ll do,” Ed says, and Oswald beams.

“Glad to hear it. Shall we wrap up our plans?”

Ed glances down at the blueprints in his hands. “Oh! Yes.”

Oswald leads the way once more back to his desk, where— _ugh_ —Edward the dog waits patiently. Oswald leans down to pat his head, cooing more affectionately than Ed has ever heard him.

“Hello, Edward,” he says, giving the dog a kiss. _Really?_

“Could you stop coddling your dog for five minutes?” Ed sighs. “The one you named after me?”

Oswald glances up. “You still have a problem with that?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Oswald rolls his eyes. “Like you’d ever name a pet after me.”

Ed sputters, but Oswald gets up, moving to the desk and patting the surface.

Ed complies, rolling the blueprints out carefully and pinning down the edges with books and paperweights. “The first thing we need to worry about is getting construction off the ground.”

“Leave that to me,” Oswald says. “I have enough men at my disposal that that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Ed glances up. “Wouldn’t they want secure passage on the very machine they’re building?”

Oswald grins. “You worry about management. I’ll take care of the… messier sides of business.”

Ed can’t help his slow smile back. He should’ve known Oswald would go for the old “kill-your-employees.”

“Besides,” Oswald says, looking back down at the plans, “we won’t need anyone else.”

Ed blinks. For a moment there, it almost seemed like—no. Oswald didn’t care about him like that anymore. He couldn’t.

“Ed?” Oswald asks.

Ed blinks again. “What?”

Oswald shakes his head. “I know that look. You were a million miles away, hm?”

“Can’t be helped,” Ed mutters, ducking his head. “Lots to think about.”

“Lots going on in that head of yours,” Oswald says, and is that a note of fondness Ed detects in his voice?

“What I _said_ ,” Oswald continues, “was how are we going to get the materials for this thing?”

“Easy,” Ed says. “There’s loads of scrapyards around the city. Besides which, Gotham’s become quite the scrapyard itself.”

Oswald chuckles. “That’s true. Could you draw up a map for those? I’ll get my men out gathering materials right away.”

“Of course.” Ed frowns. “How quickly can your people get this built?”

“As quickly as possible,” Oswald replies. “I can’t stand waiting in this prison another day.”

“Agreed,” Ed murmurs, running his hand over the plans, tracing the outline of each window in the sub.

“Well,” Oswald exclaims. “It’s getting late. Shall I, um, leave you to it?”

“Mmm,” Ed nods, grabbing a pencil from the desk.

He hears Oswald snort. “Good night, Ed.”

Ed finally looks up and says, “Good night,” but Oswald is already gone, vanished up the stairs. It hits a little too close to home, reminding Ed of—

_“Still hard at work, I see,” Oswald says, peering over Ed’s shoulder._

_“Mmhmm.” Ed scratches out another note, flicking through the pile of notices on his left. Running the mayor’s office often means bringing work home, and Ed has always been the type to be dedicated to his job. This one in particular._

_“Well, I’m off to bed,” Oswald says. “But I, um. Brought you a little something. To keep you going.”_

_He carefully clears a space amidst the papers and places a cup of tea on the desk. Ed glances up._

_“You… made that for me?”_

_“Of course.” Oswald smiles. “Anything for my chief of staff.”_

_Ed smiles back, feeling much more awake than he has all evening. “Thank you, Oswald.”_

_Oswald lingers a moment longer, eyes flicking from Ed to the papers and back. He seems to come to a decision, though, and leaves, sending one last grin over his shoulder to Ed._

_Ed can’t help but feel he’s missed something—some gesture, some conversational cue._

_But no matter—there’s more work to be done. And a cup of tea to sip._

Ed starts, looking down at the desk. Caught up in his memories, he had started to doodle on the edges of the blueprints, meaningless swirls and almost-shapes.

He quickly erases them, shaking his head as though to dispel the unwelcome thoughts. _That can never be again. It’s only memory now._

But looking up the stairs to the double doors beyond, Ed can’t help but hope a cup of tea appears at his side when he needs it most.

* * *

Ed gasps, heart thudding in his chest and limbs tangling around him. He can still feel the icy waters of Gotham river on his skin, the slow weight gathering in his lungs until it bursts up to his head, setting sparks off behind his eyes as gunshots fired and explosions blew and screams slammed down on his ears and blood spilled out over his hands—

He jerks his hands to his face, struggling to see. Where—where—

His glasses. He scrambles for them on the bedside table, roughly pushing them onto his face before peering down at his fingers.

No blood. Just a dream, then. Just another wretched dream.

Ed curls his hands around his head, shrinking into a ball. If it was just a dream, why was it so _vivid_? Strange—Haven—the docks—all of it combines into one tangled vision that causes Ed to shake down to his very bones. Everything’s moving too fast, his breathing coming too quick—

He tightens his grip, trying to center himself on the simple pain of tugging his own hair. His mind keeps running in all directions, guilt and terror and despair flicking by like a reel spun too quickly.

 _You need help_ , a voice says, and damn it, not now, not _now_. He can’t even tell whose voice it is—whether it’s the other him, Kristen, Oswald—

Oswald. He’s right down the hall. Ed could—he could—

No. Oswald wouldn’t help. He wouldn’t know what to do. They’re too different, now, too separated by time and their own mistakes.

Ed scrapes his nails along his scalp, and he shakes.

* * *

Ed finds Oswald already standing at the bottom of the stairs the next morning, looking far more chipper than Ed has ever felt.

“My men are clearing out space for construction,” Oswald informs him, holding out the blueprints. “I figured we could pay the site a visit. Check in on progress.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ed says, taking the plans.

They head to the site in one of Oswald’s cars that’s somehow remained intact after all this time. Oswald was right—his men are hard at work, shoving aside scrap piles and moving old, sodden crates. But the thing is…

“The docks?” Ed asks, climbing out of the car.

Oswald sighs. “I know. It was the only viable space. Everything else is either wrecked or taken over by some petty gang.”

“Still,” Ed says, glancing out over the water, “I thought we agreed to never see this place ever again.”

“I recall.” Oswald frowns. “But, unfortunately, Gotham appears to only have one working dock left.”

“For shame,” Ed says. “Perhaps it’s poetry, though.”

Oswald glances up at him and inclines his head.

“We agreed to never come back,” Ed starts, “and now we’re leaving it behind us for good. Moving on, almost.”

“You could say that,” Oswald replies, slowly.

Ed looks over at Oswald, but he’s facing the water, expression unreadable. Ed wonders, again, what Oswald could be thinking. Whether he truly wants to be friends, whether this is all some ploy, or whether…

Ed shakes his head. No use dwelling when there’s work to be done.

“So,” Ed says as Oswald looks up, “what have we got to work with?”

Oswald smiles, and Ed has to admit he’d do anything to see that again.

* * *

There’s the sound of water rushing in his ears, slow and steady, and then it breaks and splinters in two by a shot so loud it breaks the sky open.

Ed falls to his knees, hands reaching out for—what? He can’t see, can barely make out the dim light reflecting off the water before him.

Water. _Oswald!_

Ed lurches forward, peering down into the depths of the river. There’s something there, something faint, but he still can’t see, can’t—

Another shot rings out, the sky breaks, and for a moment everything is illuminated. Everything, including Oswald’s pained expression, sinking deeper and deeper into the water.

Ed doesn’t even think twice, diving after him before he can help it. But the current’s too quick, his movements too slow, and Oswald slips away until Ed can no longer see him.

 _Oswald!_ he tries to cry, and water surges into his lungs, and he almost accepts it because he deserves this, he couldn’t save his only friend and he deserves to—

With a crash, Ed wakes on the floor, blankets still trapped on the bed. He lays for a moment, shivering, trying to process where he is. The floor is wood, covered in a thin, fraying carpet. The library.

He slowly uncurls, reaching up to the nightstand for his glasses. He glances over at the bed, but sleep seems farther and farther off by the minute. He hasn’t had nightmares like this since—

Well. Since he shot Oswald.

Ed wanders out to the kitchen and fills a small pot with water. Tea will warm him up. He’s still shivering, and he can’t tell if it’s from the cold or the dream. Maybe both.

Without really noticing, his mug of tea is brewed and steaming in front of him. He tentatively takes a sip, and it’s only then he realizes that he’s made ginger tea. With honey.

Oswald’s voice lingers in his mind. _My mother always said it was good for a sore throat._

Ed’s grip tightens on the mug. Why couldn’t Oswald have just—said something then? That couch, that fire, the look in Oswald’s eyes as he leaned forward…

Another shiver passes through Ed. _Damn it._ He can’t keep doing this, can’t keep these thoughts around when Oswald has so clearly moved on.

 _Has he?_ a treacherous voice whispers.

Ed shuts his eyes tight. He takes another sip of the tea. And he tries to forget.

* * *

After about a week of Ed taking over Oswald’s desk, Oswald gets tired of seeing every surface covered in blueprints and metal contraptions. So he grants Ed his own workspace, just down the hall. Ed has to admit that, once he gets it all set up, he kind of loves it. It allows him room to breathe and tinker and build, but it also leaves him close to his… ally? Partner? Friend, most likely.

Who, speak of the devil, walks in the door with a flourish. Ed frowns for a moment, wondering if he should add some sort of alarm system so he isn’t surprised next time.

“How’s she coming along?” Oswald says, eyeing the various bits and bobs strewn across the table Ed’s currently leaning over.

“Well enough,” he says, hearing a soft _click_ as two pieces come together. “There we go.”

“What’s that?” Oswald asks. He looks over Ed’s shoulder at the small model in his hands.

Ed holds it up, some of his old flamboyance returning in the wave of his hand. “Ta-da! A small-scale model of the SS… whatever.”

Oswald’s face lights up in a grin. “Splendid! And I still think we should name her the SS Gertrud.”

Ed huffs. “Fine. I know you’re not going to budge, so you win this round.”

Oswald snatches the small sub out of his hands triumphantly. He begins to examine it, holding it this way and that while Ed returns to the blueprints.

It’s another few minutes before Ed realizes that Oswald has been staring at him. Almost… glaring.

“What?” Ed asks.

Oswald squints. “You need a haircut.”

Ed sputters. “I—I’m perfectly fine.”

Oswald merely raises his eyebrows and Ed sighs.

“I know it’s gotten a _tad_ long, but it’s manageable,” Ed says.

Oswald says nothing, eyebrows still rising.

“It’s not interfering with my work!”

Now it’s Oswald’s turn to sputter. “It’s falling into your eyes! You kept brushing it away while you were reading those blueprints.”

Ed opens his mouth, shuts it. “Perhaps it’s getting a _little_ untidy, but I don’t exactly know any hairdressers that have opened up shop in the middle of a war zone.”

A slow grin appears on Oswald’s face—the shark-like one that makes its appearance right before he strikes to kill. Ed can’t help but gulp.

“I can cut your hair,” Oswald says, placing the sub carefully down on a nearby table.

Ed frowns. “Can you?”

Oswald rolls his eyes. “Ed, do you remember nothing? I cut my own hair.”

Ed blinks and, _oh_ , Oswald is right, he used to—

_“What are you doing?” Ed asks, poking his head into Oswald’s room._

_Locks of dark hair litter the bureau as Oswald holds a pair of scissors aloft, snipping another strand. He glances over at Ed. “I cut it every once it a while to keep it in check.”_

_“You don’t visit a barber?” Ed replies._

_Oswald shakes his head. “If I can do it myself, why bother?”_

_He continues cutting away and Ed watches, hovering in the doorway. He can’t quite bring himself to leave—there’s something fascinating about the careful way Oswald holds the scissors, the concentration clear in the furrow of his brow, each bundle that falls, dream-like, to the table below._

_Oswald looks over. “Still there?”_

_Ed starts. “I-I’m sorry, I really should—”_

_“I could give you a haircut, if you’d like.”_

_That stops Ed in his tracks. “Really?”_

_Oswald shrugs. “It’s no problem. I enjoy it.”_

_“Well, alright then,” Ed says. “It’s a plan.”_

_Oswald smiles, soft and small, and Ed smiles back before he leaves, a newfound spring in his step._

“I remember,” Ed mumbles.

“Well, the offer is there,” Oswald says, turning to leave.

“I’ll—” Ed starts. “You can do it. If you want.”

Oswald slowly turns back.

“Just don’t take too much off,” Ed mutters.

Oswald’s shark grin is back in place. “I can’t promise anything.”

* * *

Oswald leads Ed up to his bedroom, gesturing vaguely to the seat in front of the bureau as he goes hunting for his tools.

Ed glances around as he gets settled. It’s nothing like Oswald’s room at the mansion. This is much smaller, more… intimate? Ed shoves the word choice aside and tries to focus on Oswald, who’s placing a towel around his shoulders.

“How short would you like it?” he asks, unrolling a set of scissors and straight razors on the table in front of Ed.

Ed snorts as he removes his glasses. “Are you actually going to listen to me?”

Oswald shrugs. “I might, if it’s reasonable.”

Ed thinks for a moment as Oswald selects a pair of scissors, holding them aloft the same way he might hold a knife.

“The same way I had it when I was chief of staff,” Ed eventually says.

Oswald hesitates for a moment before nodding. “Fine.”

And suddenly Oswald’s hands are in Ed’s hair, finding a lock at the back of his head to cut. Ed jumps, and he immediately regrets it as Oswald shoots him a look in the mirror.

“Keep still,” he mutters, returning his glare to the offending strands in front of him.

“I’m not _trying_ to fidget,” Ed retorts. And then there’s the first _snip_. Ed feels the slight prickle of hairs fall onto his neck, slightly uncovered by the towel.

Oswald works slowly, combing through each section with an ease that Ed doesn’t quite expect. Usually, Oswald is all bursts of energy and emotion, impulse and planned strikes. But this is deliberate, almost gentle, and Ed loses himself in the sound of scissors slicing together, the soft brush of fabric, the barely-there press of Oswald’s fingers in his hair.

Without his glasses, he can’t quite see himself in the mirror, but he begins to see the shape of his old haircut return. Oswald’s expression is blurred, too, but as he reaches what seems like the end, he slows down. Takes more time to run a comb through Ed’s hair, snip carefully at it just so.

Ed finds he doesn’t really mind.

Eventually, Oswald puts the scissors down and takes up a straight razor. Neither of them speaks as he gently spreads shaving cream over the back of Ed’s head. Ed can’t help the shiver as Oswald’s fingers drag underneath his right ear, his left.

 _Someone’s getting antsy_ , a voice whispers, and Ed scrunches his eyes shut, trying to block it out.

“Ed?”

Ed opens his eyes, trying to meet Oswald’s in the mirror.

“I’m fine. Passing headache,” Ed says.

“You should take more breaks,” Oswald replies, carefully scraping the razor against the back of Ed’s neck.

“I told you, I’m _fine_ ,” Ed says. “I’d rather get out of Gotham sooner rather than later.”

Oswald hums, continuing his work, and Ed sinks back into the comfortable silence between them.

After a few moments, and with a slight flourish, Oswald places the razor down and pats the back of Ed’s head dry with the towel. “There. What do you think?”

Ed places his glasses back on and _oh_. His hair is almost exactly as it was, if a bit longer on top, and there’s Oswald, standing behind him with the strangest expression on his face.

“It’s…” Ed starts. “Nice. It’s nice.”

Oswald smiles, but it’s small. “Good. Glad you like it.”

Ed can’t tear his eyes away from Oswald’s. There’s something there, something that’s been growing as Oswald snipped away at his hair, something that stalls Ed’s breath in his chest.

He swallows. “Thank you.”

There’s a moment where Ed knows he could turn around, could look up at Oswald and open his mouth and finally, finally say what’s been plaguing his mind these past few weeks—

But Ed gets up. “I.. have to get back to work.”

Oswald nods.

And Ed leaves, like the coward he’s always been.

* * *

The newly-installed bells above Ed’s workstation ring out and he casually brings out his gun, pointing it toward the double doors.

Barbara storms in, Oswald close behind her. “Put that gun down this instant if you want to keep working on this sub!”

Ed rolls his eyes but complies.

“Barbara, please, I told you we could talk about this—” Oswald starts.

Barbara whirls, not letting him get a word in. “And I told you that I wanted to see this sub for myself.”

She turns back to Ed. “And what, is this it? A bunch of rinky-dink contraptions and a tiny model?”

Ed sighs. “Do I have to explain that this is a long process for the thousandth time, or should I just shut up now and let you yell at me again?”

If Barbara’s glares could kill, Ed would’ve been dead three times over. “Stop being such a wise-ass and give me an update. A real one.”

Oswald, meanwhile, turns to leave. “Let me know when you two are done! I’m worn out from all the yelling.”

“Good riddance!” Barbara yells back as the doors slam shut behind Oswald.

Ed closes his eyes and sighs once more for both of them, mentally preparing for the explanation he’s going to have to give.

He opens his eyes and finds Barbara lounging on one of his desk chairs. “So,” she says, “what’s the deal with you two?”

Ed frowns. Why the sudden shift in Barbara’s demeanor? “With who?”

Barbara rolls her eyes in turn. “Who else? You and Penguin. Have you two sorted out your… thing yet?”

“I… don’t quite understand what you’re—”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Barbara mutters. “You two get into a lover’s spat? Oswald has been nothing but tense for the past few weeks, and I can’t put up with it anymore. I had to come up with some excuse about the sub for Ozzie just to talk to you about it.”

Ed can only stare.

“Don’t tell me,” Barbara says. “You haven’t even gotten _that_ far yet?”

Ed opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens. Shuts.

Barbara waves her hand. “Eddie, you’re hopeless. Just get over yourself and fuck him.”

Ed’s eyebrows skyrocket. “I have _no_ idea what you’re trying to imply, but that kind of vulgarity is—”

“Okay, okay,” Barbara says, slowly getting up. “I can see that you’re just as deep in denial as Ozzie, so I’ll leave you two to have at it.”

Ed can barely even speak. Now he _really_ understands the phrase “smoke coming out of their ears.”

Barbara sighs. “Look. I’m blunt. It’s what I _do_. Just… do something? Penguin has been grating on my nerves. _And_ the baby’s.”

“I… I don’t know what I can do,” Ed finally says. “We’re not good at this sort of thing.”

“Clearly,” Barbara huffs, an almost-laugh. “Listen, I’m not the best at giving advice. But you’ve got something there.”

She looks up to meet Ed’s eyes. Barbara’s always so guarded, her expression often reminiscent of steel, but this feels… strangely vulnerable.

“Don’t lose it,” she says.

Ed nods. It’s all he can do.

Barbara straightens up. “Well. That’s enough of that. Get back to work.”

Ed gives a jaunty salute. “Will do, Captain.”

Barbara gives him a smile—a little sharp, but genuine—and storms out much the same way she came in.

The second she’s gone, Ed collapses into a chair, running a hand over his face and throwing his glasses askew. Barbara has always been a tenuous ally, but she was right once before, a long, long time ago. _Maybe she’s right this time, too._

But Ed is still downright terrified at the thought of facing down Oswald alone _._

* * *

Oswald arrives later, waltzing in the door as he always does, and Ed barely stops himself from running over and doing something ridiculous.

“Barbara made her way out, I presume?” he asks, picking his way over to where Ed is seated.

“In and out like a revolving door,” Ed says, peering at the blueprints to avoid meeting Oswald’s eye.

He can feel Oswald gazing over his shoulder. “How _is_ progress, though?”

“Fine,” Ed says. _Now or never, now or never._ “Listen, Oswald.”

“Hm?” Oswald says as Ed stands up and turns around and oh, he didn’t think it would be this hard.

Ed opens his mouth, but no sound comes out, and Oswald is just looking at him, open and unknowing.

“What?” Oswald asks.

“I,” Ed says. He tries to find words, there must be something, _anything_ he can use—

_“In fact, there is something that I need to tell you,” Oswald says, and is that a tremor in his voice?_

_Ed looks up, curious and hopeful all at once._

_“Something very important,” Oswald continues._

_Ed waits, and Oswald just looks at him the way he does sometimes when he thinks Ed isn’t looking. The look that has a current of something unidentifiable beneath it, the spark that Ed can’t quite identify but hopes—_

_Oswald isn’t saying anything._

_“What is it, Oswald?” Ed asks, and he hopes, hopes, hopes beyond anything._

_And_ finally _—_

_“You know what? I forget!” Oswald laughs, strained and awful._

_And Ed can’t understand a word of what’s happened._

“What is it, Ed?” Oswald says, peering up at him. _Can’t he feel this reversal, this twist of fate?_

And now it’s up to Ed to break their cycle, the one they fall into at every turn.

“There’s something that I need to tell you,” Ed says, and he wonders if Oswald recognizes this script. “Something very important.”

Oswald leans back, squinting at him. _Does he know?_

“Is… is this about the sub?” Oswald asks, and _god_ , Ed hopes that’s a tremor in his voice.

“No,” Ed admits. “Shall we meet tomorrow to discuss it? Say, eleven o’clock?”

“Here?”

“Why not,” Ed says, trying in vain to sound casual. “It’s as good a place as any.”

Oswald gives him a curious look, but he says nothing more. _Out of fear? Or out of sheer unknowing?_

“Good.” Ed turns back to his worktable. “I’ll see you then.”

He doesn’t look back, but eventually, he hears Oswald’s hesitant footsteps grow quieter until all he’s left with is the distant roar of wind outside, the slight shifting of the building around him, and his own harsh, harsher breathing.

 _Now we wait_ , he hears a voice murmur.

“Now we wait,” he replies.

* * *

This time it’s all wrong—the docks are twisted upside down and fish are falling out onto the sky, breaking apart buildings on their way and scratching edges into the clouds. Ed’s gazing up, and he needs to catch something, catch one of these fish, maybe, but he can’t quite figure out which—

And then there’s Oswald, draped in seaweed and blood and falling like he has all the time in the world, and yet Ed, as much as he runs, can’t make his way over fast enough, arms reached out for nothing and Oswald plummets and Ed sinks back into the water above and somewhere he hears a voice scream out his name and it’s all wrong, it’s all _wrong_ —

Ed wakes up thrashing, limbs pulled this way and that by the blankets around him. He clutches for his hair, finds it’s shorter than he imagined, and his breathing heightens. Where—glasses—Oswald—

He tries to slow down, breathes evenly. In, out. In. Out. He pictures an empty library, a neon question mark, the smell of freshly-brewed tea. Calming things, safe things.

Eventually, Ed makes sense of his surroundings—City Hall, not his home base, glasses on the nightstand. The nightmares keep getting worse, and he knows he’ll never get back to sleep at this rate. Unless—

And then he’s just those few short steps down the hall before he can blink, fist raised before the double doors in front of him.

There’s a moment where time seems to stop, and he knows that he could turn and walk back with no consequence. Oswald would never know.

But then it’s done. He’s knocked. And there’s no reply.

“Oz…?” he calls out, quiet.

Nothing.

He tries the door, just to say he did, and finds it unlocked and opening in his grasp.

The bedroom looks much the same as it did the other day during his haircut, albeit with someone actually in the bed this time. A shock of black hair peeks out over the mound of blankets that rise and fall, slow and even.

Asleep, then.

Ed doesn’t dare go further in, but he stays and watches for a moment. Just to feel safe. Just to feel that there’s someone else here.

And then that’s all broken when Oswald shifts and turns and mumbles, “Ed?”

Ed holds his breath. Maybe if he doesn’t move—

No such luck. Oswald spots him at the door and sits up with a jerk. His eyes meet Ed’s, but there’s no fear there. It feels… almost like an invitation.

Ed wants so badly to say yes. But it’s all unspoken, like everything with them, and he promised to _talk_ tomorrow. Today, technically, but not now, not in the dark with no words between them. Too many times they’ve ended like that, blood spilled and tears shed.

Even now, in the quietest of settings, they’re both too volatile to be certain.

“Ed, are you alright?” Oswald says. He’s so, so _gentle_.

Ed knows he could tell the truth, and Oswald would be so kind, but he wouldn’t be honest. He would hold back, and so would Ed, and they’d remain cowards.

So Ed lies. It’s familiar territory.

“I’m fine,” he whispers. “Sorry to disturb you.”

“Are you sure?” Oswald replies, still asking, still pleading.

Ed nods. He _can’t_. He just…

“Ed, you know I’d do anything for you,” Oswald says. “You can be honest with me.”

And Ed’s heart—whatever is left of it—breaks.

“I’m fine,” he chokes out, and then he’s running back down the hall like he never had a choice at all and closing the door behind him and sinking to the ground with a sob.

 _Coward, coward, coward_ , the voices say, and they keep it up all night until the gray light of dawn creeps over Ed’s tear-stained skin.

* * *

All Ed can hear is the distant ticking of the clock on the wall, the faint tinkling of bells as they sway in the breeze that sneaks through the cracks in the windows. _Almost eleven. Almost eleven._

He hasn’t even been working, not really. All morning he’s been hiding out here. He left before he could even glimpse Oswald at breakfast, choosing to grab a can of whatever and go.

And Oswald hasn’t tried to make an appearance, either. Then again, he did agree to eleven o’clock, and oh dear, one minute to go.

Ed paces, stops. Paces again.

Eleven chimes. _Here we go._

* * *

Four hours later, Oswald appears with some lackey and Ed can’t help but be furious. Didn’t he _know_ what Ed was going to say? Couldn’t he have _guessed_?

And then Penn happens.

And then Penn happens.

* * *

But it all works out, doesn’t it, with Oswald laughing on the floor and blood on his face like it belongs there. All Ed can think is, _I put that there. I saved him. I_ showed _him._

Their laughter dies, but there’s still a wrinkle at the corner of Oswald’s mouth that Ed wants to capture and save away in a box, if he could.

Instead, he walks over, holding out a hand for Oswald to take.

“C’mon,” Ed says. “I still have something to tell you.”

He’s surprised at his own boldness.

Oswald takes Ed’s offered hand and stands with his help. “Would you like to tell me now, whatever it is?”

Ed swallows. “What do you say to dinner, tonight? Eight o’clock?”

He can only be so bold.

Oswald smiles. “Whatever this is, it can’t be that important. You keep putting it off.”

Ed laughs, hesitant. “I promise it is.”

“I guess we’ll see,” Oswald says, punctuating it with a wink, and that does things to Ed’s breathing.

“Yes” is all Ed can manage.

Oswald gives him one more grin before he leaves, and Ed finally gets back to work, feeling for the first time that things are falling into place.

* * *

Dinner is a muted affair, with cans of beans and old noodles for a meal. But Ed puts candles in the middle of the table, folds the napkins he finds _just_ so, and he makes Oswald laugh throughout with stories and even the occasional riddle.

It couldn’t be more perfectly set up.

“So,” Oswald says, once they’ve retired to the office couch for a glass of wine. “What’s this thing you won’t tell me?”

“Thing,” Ed echoes. It’s so easy, really. Oswald is sitting right there next to him across the couch, and it’s just like before with the tea and the fire and the hug, and all he has to do is…

Oswald waits, expectant and silent. He doesn’t even touch his wine while Ed tries to force the words to just happen. _Why won’t they happen?_

Ed takes a gulp of wine.

“Ed, are you alright?” Oswald asks, suddenly quiet. _Parallels, parallels._

Ed’s mouth moves, but no sound comes out.

Oswald puts his glass down and leans forward. “Ed—”

And Ed, dammit, Ed _still_ can’t do this. _Coward_ , a voice hisses.

He stands up with a jolt, looking everywhere but at Oswald.

“I need some air,” he says, and he practically bolts from the room.

_Coward. Coward. Coward._

* * *

Ed’s not sure how long he spends pacing outside City Hall, mind wracked and broken from all the debating and denial he’s done. But eventually he knows he has to go back inside, and maybe he can do it this time, maybe he can—

But Oswald isn’t there when Ed walks in. The glasses are gone, cleared without a trace, and it’s like nothing ever happened.

Oswald’s double doors are closed. The building’s quiet. Holding its breath.

It would be so _easy_ to leave.

But Ed has left, countless times before. Just a short while ago he left again, and he knows how simple it is to keep breaking Oswald’s heart, over and over and over.

 _If his heart is still open to break,_ a voice says, and he finally recognizes it as his own.

He climbs the stairs, one at a time. _Coward_ , his whisper says with each step, and it grows louder, _coward_ , with the next, _coward_ , he’s stepping toward the doors, _COWARD_ —

He knocks. Opens the door.

Oswald’s sitting at the bureau, head in his hands. He looks up as Ed walks in, but he doesn’t look broken or tear-struck or any of the things Ed was afraid of. Instead, he looks _lost_ , and that hurts more than anything Ed could have imagined.

He doesn’t even say anything to Ed, just purses his lips in a thin, thin line.

“Oswald,” Ed says, and this, he knows, this is his last chance.

“Oswald,” he repeats. “I…”

_Find the words, find them._

And somewhere, buried deep and almost lost, he finds an old, familiar script, lying untouched for so, so long.

“I cannot be bought,” he starts.

Oswald stands up abruptly, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“But I can be stolen with one glance,” Ed continues. “I’m worthless to one…”

He stops and realizes that he’s trembling. Oswald takes a step closer, and that gives him the push to finally end this.

“But priceless to two,” Ed says. “What am I?”

Oswald takes the last step, putting them toe to toe.

“Love,” Oswald whispers.

 _Now_.

“I love you,” Ed says.

And the air rushes out of him, the weight on his shoulders drops, and even if Oswald denies him now, he finally said it. _Finally, finally, finally._

Oswald’s face falls, the corner of his mouth twitches, flickers between expressions too quick for Ed to catch them. But it’s Oswald’s turn now, and Ed just has to wait.

“Are you sure?” Oswald asks.

Ed can’t help but laugh. “Always.”

There’s a pause, and then Oswald is leaning up, and Ed is hoping hoping hoping and leaning down, and they meet somewhere in the middle and their noses brush and then they’re kissing and oh, _dear_ , Ed’s lungs might just fall out of his chest to the floor.

Oswald’s hand sneaks its way across Ed’s neck and into his hair, and Ed’s arms slip around Oswald’s waist to pull him closer, and Ed never realized just how simple it was, how lovely, to hold someone who understands you and kiss them beyond belief.

Oswald pulls away first, but he doesn’t leave Ed’s arms. Instead, he gazes up at Ed with all his old adoration ( _though it never died, did it?_ ).

“We should probably talk about this,” Oswald murmurs.

“Probably,” Ed says, his eyes still focused on Oswald’s _very_ kissable lips.

“Shall we say… later?” Oswald says, his own attention distracted by Ed’s hands running up and down his back, and Ed never knew he could divert Oswald’s focus like that.

“It’s a date,” Ed says, leaning in, and then they’re lost again, but this time they have each other to fall down with.


	2. Chapter 2

Later, later, so much later, Oswald curls his arms around Ed’s chest.

“I could get used to this,” he murmurs.

“Using me as a pillow?” Ed asks. “If I recall correctly, this isn’t the first time this has happened.”

Oswald glares up at him, but it’s hard to take him seriously with his tousled hair and soft pajamas.

“Namely,” Ed continues, “when you were staying as a guest in my apartment and you just so happened to roll over in your slee—”

Oswald swats him.

“Ow!” Ed exclaims, more out of indignation than any real pain. Still, Oswald has quite the hidden strength.

“Just let me have this, Ed,” Oswald grumbles, tightening his grip.

Ed huffs, so terribly fond it _aches_. “Fine.”

Oswald hums, and Ed feels it down to his bones. He tucks his own arms around Oswald, quite ready to fall asleep at a moment’s notice—

“Ed?”

Ed blearily opens his eyes. “Oz?”

“Now might not be the best time to talk, but…” Oswald leans up to look at Ed.

Ed sighs. “No, no, it’s important. …For starters, um, what are we, exactly?”

Oswald frowns. “I thought at least that much was clear.”

“Well,” Ed starts, hesitant and stilted and stumbling over every word, “we kissed for a _while_ , I love you and I hope you return the sentiment because we didn’t really say too much, but then we decided to sleep in the same bed and that’s _nice_ , but…”

He runs out of steam, nervously rubbing circles into Oswald’s back. Oswald puts a hand up to Ed’s face, tilting it toward him.

“Ed, of _course_ I return your feelings,” Oswald says, eyes locked on Ed’s. “I love you.”

Even though he’s said it so many times before now, it still steals the breath right out of Ed. “O-oh.”

Oswald runs his thumb along Ed’s cheek, that undefinable _something_ in his eyes again (though this time, Ed thinks he knows what it is).

“I just…” Ed says. “I want a word for us. Something to define.”

Oswald takes his hand away and frowns. “I’m… not entirely sure what would be best. What did you have in mind?”

Ed shakes his head. “Well, we were friends, and enemies, and maybe rivals, and I suppose we _could_ be dating, but—”

“Partners?” Oswald proposes. “Or conspirators.”

Ed hums. “I quite like the sound of both.”

Oswald smiles, soft and slow and easy. Who knew his face could light up like that?

“It’s settled,” he says.

“Then… what about everything that's happened?” Ed asks, voice suddenly quiet. “Do we leave it?”

“We can’t ignore it,” Oswald says, leaning just far back enough that Ed’s hold on him is broken.

“But I _want_ to,” Ed pleads. “I’ve spent too long wondering without—without words or clear signs—”

“We both have,” Oswald says, still too far away. “So I’d… I’d like to start.”

Ed blinks.

“I forgive you, Ed,” Oswald says, and somehow it hits harder than hearing him say he loves him. “For everything.”

Ed trembles. “D-Do you really?”

“Of course,” Oswald whispers, finally leaning back toward Ed. “How could I not? I already did, really, a long time ago.”

“Gosh,” Ed says, and it comes out hoarse. “I thought… I thought I was the only one.”

Oswald _breathes_. “You—”

“I forgive you a thousand times over,” Ed says, pulling Oswald back into his desperate, desperate hold. “It’s all so long ago now. I’ve found no point in dwelling when we could be _here_.”

Oswald presses their foreheads together and looks right into Ed’s eyes. Oswald’s gaze is always so piercing, but this close… “Are you certain? I-I don’t want to force—”

“You haven’t,” Ed says, taking the leap and pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Oswald’s mouth.

“I just want us to be _sure_ ,” Oswald murmurs.

Ed gives him another kiss. “You are the one constant. I’ll always be sure.”

Oswald’s eyes, so close, suddenly fill with tears. “Oh, Ed, I—I’ve never been more sure of anyone else but you.”

Ed smiles. “Come here.”

And Oswald burrows into his warmth, and they kiss until they fall asleep.

* * *

The breeze around the docks is crisp and cool, brushing Ed’s hair aside like a caress. He twists one final bolt into place before giving the side of the submarine a pat.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “All set to swim.”

He stands back to admire his handiwork when he spots Oswald’s familiar car pulling in. Oswald himself steps out a moment later, a surprised grin on his face.

“Is it finished?” he calls out.

“Come and see!” Ed yells back.

Oswald quickly walks over, peering up at the sub. “It looks done to me.”

“It is _this_ ,” Ed holds up two pinched fingers, “close. Just have to run a few more tests and we’ll be off and running. Or swimming, as it were.”

Oswald’s hand slips into his own. “I’m happy to hear that.”

Ed pulls him closer to place a kiss on his brow. “I am, too. Soon enough we’ll be out of this dump and making our own way.”

Oswald pulls back. “Our?”

Ed stills, looking anywhere but at Oswald. “A slip of the tongue. We can each do whatever we—”

Oswald suddenly laughs, the sound startling Ed. “No, no, Ed. You… you want us to stick together.”

Ed frowns. “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

Oswald shrugs, looking down, and it’s in these moments that Ed really _sees_ Oswald. He’s always so poised, so show-ready, that sometimes Ed forgets how vulnerable he can be. How easily he opens his heart and how stitched-together it is.

Ed’s own heart is tilted, sharp and angled in all the wrong places, bruised like old fruit in the others. But it’s still so desperate to draw closer, and now it beats staccato at the thought of Oswald realizing how much Ed cares.

“Oswald,” Ed says, carefully, “I’m not here for a temporary visit.”

Oswald looks up, and Ed makes sure to keep his eyes met.

“Where you go, I go,” Ed continues. “I won’t leave you again.”

Oswald nods, eyes wet. “I’m sorry, Ed, I just—I worry, sometimes. A lot, really.”

Ed pulls him back, drawing his arms around Oswald’s shorter frame. “I worry, too. We can just keep reassuring each other until we know it’s true.”

Oswald laughs, burying his face in Ed’s chest. “Well, I suppose I should pay you back, then. I’m not leaving you, either.”

Ed brushes his lips atop Oswald’s head. “Is that a threat, or a promise?”

Oswald pulls back just enough to look up at Ed. “Both.”

Ed often wonders now how he ever kept from kissing Oswald in moments like these. He doesn’t know if he can ever make up for lost time, but damn if he doesn’t try.

So of course he kisses Oswald right there on the docks, throwing out all his old abandon and letting his desperate heart do what it wants.

* * *

Barbara drops by City Hall later that week, for once without a called-out threat or a weapon at her side.

“Where’s Ozzie?” she asks upon finding Ed—and Edward—alone in the office.

“He had to finish tying up a few loose ends,” Ed says, thinking vaguely of the workers Oswald’s probably killing right at that moment. He would’ve joined, but Olga was out and Edward needed a babysitter, and, well, Ed can’t deny he’s gotten a _little_ attached to the dog.

“Typical,” Barbara scoffs, slowly sitting down on the couch opposite Ed. Her baby would be due at any moment, if Ed’s perception is anything to go by.

“We just wanted to let you know that we launch tomorrow,” Ed says with a grin.

“Really?” Barbara asks. “That quickly?”

Ed shrugs. “The tests are done and it all looks ship-shape. That pressure regulator valve that was giving us trouble is back in working order.”

Barbara nods, considering. “Penguin seems back to his old self. More chipper, even.”

“He is, isn’t he,” Ed says, and he can’t help the note of fondness that creeps into his voice.

Barbara, of course, notices and gives Ed a sharp grin. “So. You two finally—”

Ed holds up a hand. “Please. Don’t be crass.”

Barbara rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t going to be. I am happy for you, you know.”

“Well, thank you very much,” Ed says.

Edward, from his position under Oswald’s desk, lets out a little “boof” of agreement.

Barbara slowly stands up, absentmindedly rubbing her stomach. Or baby, Ed supposes. “I’ll get out of your hair. Do me a favor, will you?”

Ed gets up to walk Barbara to the door. “Shoot.”

“Treat Pengy nice for me, hm?” Barbara says. And she winks.

Oswald chooses that exact moment to walk in the door. He glances between the two of them, brow furrowed. “What are you two up to?”

Barbara turns and gives him one of her patented sweet smiles. “Oh, nothing to concern yourself over.”

Ed huffs. “Thank you, Barbara. We’ll see you _tomorrow_.”

Barbara holds up her hands. “Alright, alright, I’m going.”

Oswald turns to look at Ed as Barbara leaves. “What was all that about?”

Ed shrugs. “Preparation for the launch. Not much else.”

Oswald gives Ed a look. “Not much?”

“Nothing to concern yourself over,” Ed smirks, echoing Barbara.

Oswald walks around the couch to stand in front of Ed. “Really? What if you two were plotting against me and I didn’t even know it?”

Ed turns his smirk into a full-blown grin as he leans into Oswald’s space. “That’s certainly a possibility. But I’d much rather have you on my side.”

“And what side is that?” Oswald whispers as Ed leans in.

“Your side,” Ed murmurs, and he kisses Oswald before he can reply.

Oswald tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and Ed doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to kissing Oswald. It always feels new, always has that spark that shivers up and down Ed’s spine.

Just as Ed begins to wrap his arms around Oswald’s waist, something rather heavy lands on his feet. Startled, he breaks away from Oswald and glances down, only to find Edward sitting rather comfortably on his and Oswald’s feet.

Ed looks at Oswald, back at Edward. There’s a pause, and then Oswald and Ed are laughing, clutching at each other’s arms, and Edward is slowly lying down, the picture of comfort at their shared feet.

* * *

Of course Barbara steals the pressure regulator valve, and of course Ed had to run his mouth and mention it, and of _course_ she’s having her baby at this most convenient time.

But Oswald and Ed head into the hospital, barging past what little security they have. The nurses start to yell after them, though, and another few spot them at the opposite end of the hall, so they duck into a side hallway, hoping to avoid any more confrontations with angry staff.

Oswald glances at Ed, then back out in the hallway. “Think they’ll come back?”

“Maybe,” Ed says, his mind entirely somewhere else. “What say we make use of this waiting time alone?”

Oswald frowns, looking back at Ed, and just as he opens his mouth to reply, Ed seals his lips over Oswald’s. Ed slips one hand into Oswald’s hair and tugs, just so, and Oswald turns to putty in his hands. He, in turn, tangles his hands in Ed’s hair, knocking Ed’s hat to the ground, but Ed barely notices, his attention caught up in Oswald, Oswald, _Oswald_.

Oswald pushes forward until Ed is leaning back against the wall behind him, and Ed lets him. He sidles away from Oswald’s mouth and begins to press kisses to his jaw, his neck, the hollow space right above his collarbone.

Oswald huffs out a laugh. “Ed, you know I’m t-ticklish…!”

Ed smiles against Oswald’s neck. “Oh, here?” And he presses his lips to that hollow space once more.

Oswald outright laughs this time. “E-Ed! I’ll get you for this—”

And he slips his hands out of Ed’s hair and around his waist, finding the pressure points around Ed’s chest that send him into fits of giggles.

“Oz, h-how dare…!” Ed can barely speak, he’s laughing so hard.

The two of them continue to giggle like schoolchildren when a nurse pokes her head into the entrance of the hallway.

“What are you two intruders doing back there?” she calls out.

Ed and Oswald quickly jump away from each other, trying to smooth down their respective suits.

“Just, um, admiring the lovely architecture,” Oswald says, a tremor in his voice betraying his laughter.

Ed hastily picks up his hat as the nurse squints at them both.

“Excuse us,” Ed says. He grabs Oswald’s wrist and leads the two of them past the nurse, quickly walking down the hall where—he assumes—Barbara is staying.

As they begin to practically jog down the hall, Ed places his hat atop his now rather-mussed hair. _Hopefully, no one will notice_.

* * *

No one does, thank goodness, but Lee’s there, and _that’s_ a can of worms Ed is never ready to open. Whatever his feelings for her were have dulled in the wake of this unbounded wonderful _thing_ with Oswald, but there’s still a dim pulse of something when he looks at her.

No matter, though, as Oswald is quick to interrupt their unexpected reunion. Ed glances at him, afraid for a moment that he’ll say something about it, but Oswald moves on, quick as a whip. Ed’s grateful for that much. They’re so much more willing to move on now, it’s almost like they were never at odds at all.

They _are_ required to help Barbara and Lee, though, but it allows them time to plan and scheme and laugh, and that’s all Ed can ask for, really.

Then Bane happens, which isn’t great, but _then_ Ed produces the stolen pressure valve regulator, much to Oswald’s delight. Ed told himself he would do anything to see Oswald’s smile, and now he _knows_ that’s true.

“How long have you had that?” Oswald asks, staring at the sub part.

Ed shrugs. “Long enough to know she’d never let it out of her sight.”

Oswald laughs, breathy and perfect, but then his face suddenly falls. Ed frowns, still holding the regulator out like a gift.

“And you stuck around long enough,” Oswald says, stepping closer, “to risk both of our lives to save Barbara’s?”

Ed doesn’t even know where to begin with that. That fear from earlier is back—that Oswald will say something about—

“Or was it to protect Lee?” Oswald continues, so deadpan you’d have to squint to catch the flicker of worry behind his eyes.

Ed could say no, could deny there ever having been something between him and Lee, but that feels disingenuous, somehow, even though they stabbed each other. Oswald and Ed had done worse to one another, and here they were. It was the least Ed could do to move on, to preserve whatever fond memory he or Lee could have of their friendship and everything that followed.

“Do you want me to answer that or do you wanna sail away from here?” Ed asks.

Oswald scoffs, but it’s so helplessly _fond_ that Ed feels his heart catch in his chest. _He understood_.

“Bon voyage!” Oswald says, and he begins to walk down the hall, Ed quick to follow at his side.

Ed can’t help but feel like everything is finally clicking into place—that no matter what obstacle, no matter what blockade or pain or ruin stands in their path, he and Oswald can get past it if they have one another to lean on.

Just thinking about Oswald makes Ed give a little skip as they turn the corner. Oswald glances at him, that smile still present.

“You seem happy,” he says.

“With you, always,” Ed replies, and he reaches for Oswald’s hand.

Oswald reaches back, and the two of them walk, hand-in-hand, to the exit, to the sub, to all that awaits them outside Gotham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read this fic! I appreciate all of you and I'm so happy to share this fluffy little epilogue with you.


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